Shades of Surrender
by Libek
Summary: Aizen has an offer for Ichigo -- or, at least, half of him. The means are a little bit... dubious.


Ichigo wasn't sure how things had gone to hell so quickly.

It had been a _good plan_. All the captains and all the lieutenants united as one -- a wall against him. The best and brightest out in front, to help them break through the Espada and get at their king.

A good plan. It should've worked. He still wasn't sure why it hadn't. All he knew was that one minute he'd been charging across the white sand of Hueco Mundo, half wishing that some climactic _final confrontation_ music were playing in the background, and the next the sand had risen up to swallow him in thick, suffocating darkness.

He'd woken up here, in a cell pretending to be someone's extremely white living room, with a collar around his neck that seemed to be choking his reiatsu, and nothing better to do than pace like a caged tiger and curse himself.

Maybe the sight of the three of them standing motionless in the distance had been an illusion. Dammit, they should've been ready for that, everyone knew Aizen could pull that crap.

And almost immediately, a nasty little voice in the back of his head suggested that maybe everyone else _had_ been ready for it. Maybe he'd been the only one stupid enough to rush right into the bastard's trap.

Ichigo grit his teeth and shoved the voice away, but it jeered at him still: see, another mistake. Maybe you shouldn't have joined up with old man Yamamoto's war efforts before seeing Shinji again, and figuring out how to _really_ suppress me.

"Shut up," Ichigo told it, more loudly than he meant to.

At first he thought the laughter was it, mocking him again, but then the door to his room opened, and Ichimaru was standing there, creepy smile plastered all over his face. "Talking to yourself?"

Ichigo just stared at him. The collar would let him charge across the room, but it wouldn't let him do anything else, and he remembered Ichimaru's first release. Somehow, he didn't think he'd make it before he caught zanpakutou in the gut. But he wasn't going to give anything _away_, either--

"Or, no," Ichimaru said unexpectedly, smile widening. "I guess you're not. Not _really_, right? Does it have a name?"

Oh god he couldn't breathe.

They _knew_.

Ichimaru waited politely for him to respond, and then cocked his head to the side, razor blade amusement. "Well, I guess we'll know soon enough. Follow me, kiddo. Aizen-sama wants a word with you. Well, _half_ of you, anyway."

Then he held out his hand, and the collar tightened until Ichigo was clawing at it, desperate for air. He hardly even felt the other restraints springing to life on his wrists, only knew that they were pulling his hands away from his neck, twisting his arms behind him painfully, and making his efforts at staying conscious absolutely futile.

The last thing he saw before he passed out was Ichimaru's smile widening another fraction of an inch.

* * *

Aizen was a patient man. He had not always been, but the last two centuries had given him little choice in the matter: patience had developed, as the years went by, because otherwise he would have most assuredly gone mad.

The opinions of others on this matter notwithstanding.

But his patience had been well-rewarded almost every time, and it had been more than rewarded in this instance.

"Gin," he said lightly, "you've brought him. I trust he didn't make too much trouble?"

Gin gave a little dip of his head and reported, "None whatsoever, Sir. The collar did its little trick. Oh," he added, turning back to the boy and lifting his head by the hair, "he doesn't look any different, I know. But you should see his _eyes_. They're all black now. It's almost pretty."

The boy who looked so much like Kurosaki Ichigo responded with a very lazy leer. "Careful~. The king hasn't had all his shots, and I think he bites when people give him condescending compliments."

It was, and wasn't, Ichigo's voice. Fascinating. Aizen left his seat and proceeded sedately down the stairs that led up to his throne. They were in the main audience chamber, where he occasionally addressed the other Espada, but alone. For the moment.

"Understandable," he told the hollow masquerading as a boy. "None of us likes condescension."

Gin was right; he could see it was he drew nearer, the impenetrable black that had overtaken his sclera, his iris red. But the mask that all vizard possessed was nowhere to be seen. A side effect of the more unusual method he'd used to bring the hollow to the surface?

Aizen said, "Tell me. What is your name?"

And the hollow twisted, pulling his kidou bindings tighter, to look him in the eye. "I don't have a name," it said coolly. Then it laughed. "And I don't need one, either. Fucking human bullshit, if you ask me. You people really can't tell each other apart without them?"

"It makes conversation more polite," Aizen replied, amused. "If I have a name to use, I don't have to refer to you as _it_."

That seemed to irritate the hollow. "I'm not an it," it snapped. And leered again. "Believe me, I'm _definitely_ not an it. All the right equipment, and in good working order."

Petulant. Childish, almost, for an instant. But it had caught itself, and Aizen could respect that. He smiled pleasantly and said, "Gin. Confirm what it says, won't you?"

The hollow blinked, and then let out a low groan, Ichigo's head falling forward. Breathlessly it protested, "You're a real kinky guy, aren't you, Aizen. First the bondage, and now -- ahhh, fuck... Now this..."

Gin had wound his way behind the hollow, pointed chin tucked neatly on his shoulder, one hand on his hip and the other between his legs. He was very good at that, if memory served; long thin fingers knew all too well how to touch, where, and how fast.

He would bring the hollow's adolescent body to fast, heady release.

Aizen watched, studious, as Ichigo's shoulders trembled and Ichigo's chest heaved. The hollow tried several times to lift its head, and only managed on the fourth.

"This -- all you wanted to talk to me... about...?" it panted.

"Oh, no," Aizen assured him. "In fact, this is almost irrelevant. But you insisted."

The hollow stared at him, and Ichigo's expression was one of stunned amazement. A flush crept into that stolen face, and it looked away as a long, thin moan spilled out.

Interesting. "You would think," Aizen murmured, "that someone like you would be used to being at someone else's mercy."

"I'm not his fucking bitch," the hollow spat, and then its expression changed; panic, confusion. Ichigo's body was peaking, and the hollow had no idea what was happening to it. "Ahh-- Shit, make him -- make him stop!"

Aizen took another step closer, and cupped Ichigo's face in his hands, gently forcing eye contact. "It's nothing to fear," he told the hollow. "Only an orgasm. I rather think," he added with amusement, "you'll like it."

The hollow hissed, and this time when it struggled, it did so in earnest; it had none of Ichigo's control, but all of his power, even the power he remained so far unaware of, and this power made the kidou shudder, almost taking it apart. "It-- It feels-- I can't-- Ahhh!"

And he came, for the hollow was most decidedly _he_, back arching ever so slightly, and no doubt making an unsightly mess of his hakama. Probably all for the best; he would need white ones now.

Aizen stroked the poor creature's hair, vaguely comforting, and glanced at Gin, one look to let the younger man know that he appreciated his hard work, but that he could release the hollow now, and step away. Gin knew him well enough to understand, and stepped back smoothly with only a faint, smug smile.

It took the hollow a moment to get his own legs back under him again, and when he did, he steadied himself by leaning forward, into that hand, until he had regained his senses, and abruptly went very stiff.

_Ah,_ Aizen thought, _and now for the defining moment._ The hollow knew what had happened to him, and might even have been clever enough to see past this moment's humiliation, to the offer that was being made. Here he would make his choice, either ripping away from the touch of his tormentor, or...

The hollow lifted his head, and smirked. "All right," he said smoothly, "I can admit it. That did feel pretty fucking good."

Aizen brushed a fingertip lightly down the side of his jaw, and smiled at him. "Try to think of a name," he told the hollow. "I like to be on a first-name basis with all my men, and I would hate for you to be an exception."


End file.
